First Time for Everything
by Infamousplot
Summary: Never assume your day is going to be normal. Because if you do, I swear, it's guaranteed to be anything but. One second, I'm sitting in my room, just painting, and everything's perfectly fine. The next thing I know, Joshua is smashing through my window like a freaking fighter jet, and I have no clue what's going on. /Title Pending/Suggestions Welcomed/


**The other day I got this idea in English... Of Joshua "flying through the window like a f**king fighter jet", and the mental image, and so I had to write about it. And I did. It took awhile, and I'm not uber happy with it, but I never _will_ be happy with it, ever, so here you go. Sometimes I write great stuff... And sometimes I write average shtuff :P Oh h'well.  
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_"The next thing I know, something is smashing through my window like a fighter jet."_

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Never assume your day is going to be normal. Especially when you're pretty much a magnet for supernatural calamities.

The day was shaping up to be a seemingly average (keyword: "seemingly") Saturday. Y'know, right before things got crazy.

I was holed up in my room for the afternoon, being antisocial for the sake of art. Because no matter how "magical" friendship is, there's still gotta be time for art. There just has to be. I'd been over at Beat's last night, and I'd already texted Eri and Shiki to let them know I was working on a new project, so I was set for the day. Mom had called me a few minutes ago to tell me she'd left something at the office, and had to drive back and get it, so she would be home later, and that no, I still can't paint the other walls in my room.

Shortly after discovering CAT, many moons ago, I had decided to turn one of my walls into a canvas. My mom had had rather mixed feelings about it. She'd been glad I was acting so passionately about something again, but I don't think she liked the idea of me painting graffiti-esque murals all throughout my room. So, she'd limited my creativity to one surface. Over the years I've just been painting and re-painting over that one wall, the one opposite my bed, covering each old idea with a new one. Except now, I really like the way it looks, and I don't want to bury my masterpiece under more layers of paint.

So, I found a loophole. Mom said I could only paint one of my walls, but she never said anything about the furniture. Thus, I had my tarp laid out under my desk (which is freakishly chunky and heavy, so moving it was no easy feat, but hey, art is sacrifice), and an arsenal of open paint cans at the ready. I used to use spray paint, until my mom found the stash of cans in my closet, and worried that I would get high on the fumes. Parents... Can't live with'em, and apparently, can't live without'em.

Everything is nice and peaceful as I set to work. I've got some tunes on, all my paints and brushes laid out, and my phone's on vibrate in case anyone tries to contact me while I'm in the zone. Really, it had the makings of a perfect Saturday. So of course, you know who's going to come and totally screw it up.

One second, I'm dipping my brush into the can of blue paint. The next thing I know, something is smashing through my window like a fighter jet. Even with my headphones on, I hear it shatter, and I turn around just in time to see the shards of glass flying as a blur of white barrels right into me. It hits with enough force to knock the wind clean out of me, but the thing is, it doesn't stop. It just keeps going.

"What the hell-" I manage to gasp- barely. Everything is happening faster than I can process it. I can't even lift my head up we're moving so fast, but I don't have to look up to know that we're heading right for the wall and we're about to smash into it. Within these split seconds I managed to catch a glimpse of a set of feathery wings, furled up under fluffy hair, and that's when it clicks in my mind that this is Joshua, and odds are he's doing something stupid again. All I can think is "what the crap is _wrong_ with him?", aside from the obvious psychological issues, when suddenly, I feel the world warping around me, and I realize that we've passed through the wall. Right through it. Like it wasn't even there.

We've departed my room, sailed through the wall, and I manage to turn my head just enough to see that we're flying straight at _another_ building. Before I even have time to scream something like 'watch out', or 'building', or just to shriek out some incoherent sound of terror, Josh's wings unfurl and he veers up. We grace the face of the building, and I think my shoes bump against the wall several times on our way up- that's how freaking close we are to smashing right into the thing.

The air is rushing all around me and I can feel my headphones starting to slip off of my head, and without thinking about it I reach up to clamp them tighter, doubting they would survive the dangerous fall to the earth below. We've just skimmed the top of the building, but Josh is still going, wings flapping up a storm. The world is getting increasingly smaller as we challenge the height of sky scrapers, and I'm suddenly grateful that I don't have a fear of heights.

And that is when the thought that he might drop me enters my mind, and a string of horrifying and grotesque mental images follow suite. Because what if he does? What if he freaking _drops me_, over the sidewalk or the road, or the telephone wires, or something. All I can see is the ground rushing up to meet me as I splatter against the asphalt, or smash through the windshield of a car, or bounce off the phone wires and go flying into the streets- or get tangled up in the phone wires and get fried to death. And it's not like I can do anything if he _does_ drop me, and the more I think about it, the more I realize that this is _Joshua_, so he might even do it as some sort of sick joke, and catch me at the last second. Not that that would be any less terrifying, because he could still miss, and that thought fills me with an indescribable terror. Because I don't want to die again. I don't. I can't. I _won't-_

A loud, ear-shattering noise ripples out from below, and as I turn my head, I start to feel sick.

A building has exploded. _My_ building has exploded. It is collapsing into itself, layer upon layer of stone falling in as a cloud of dust and smoke billows out. I can actually hear it as the stone smashes against the ground, and silently, I thank every deity I know that my mom forgot her purse at work and decided to go back for it. The streets are loud with frenzied panic, and I'm glad I can't see the dead, because I don't even want to know how many people are in the process of having the life crushed out of them.

Despite my heart still hammering in my chest and my blood pounding in my ears, I feel numb. Joshua is still flying, but he'd started to descend, the flapping of his wings getting fewer and weaker as we get closer to the ground. He still hasn't said a word. I have to force myself to look away from wreckage that was my apartment. I find myself thinking about my painting, something along the lines of "all that hard work gone to waste", and I feel like an asshole for thinking like that while there are people freaking _dying_.

We float down past the top of a smaller building, and the ground rushes up to meet us as we glide down the back of what looks like another set of apartment buildings, much older and shorter than mine. Joshua banks less than elegantly, and we stumble a few feet across the asphalt, nearly collapsing as he tries not to overbalance and fall flat on his face.

He's panting heavily, despite the whole "being dead" thing, and I notice that my heart is racing at a million miles per hour, and my legs feel like jell-o as I try to move them. It's hard to even stand. Then I realize that I have Joshua's shirt clutched between my fingers, because I've been gripping onto him for dear life. Rather awkwardly, I release him, unsure what else to do. Under normal circumstances, he probably would have made a perverted comment, and this whole thing would have escalated into a fight. These weren't exactly normal circumstances though.

Once I've let go, Joshua seems to realize that the flight is now over, and it is time to disembark, ie, there is no longer a reason for him to be glomping me. With an increasingly familiar air of awkwardness, he lets his arms drop to his sides, and takes a step or two back.

For a few seconds we just stand there in silence, doing nothing but stare blankly at each other, as my mind races, trying to piece together what the crap just happened. My freaking apartment had _exploded_. Just, collapsed, with smoke and everything. Like it had been detonated or something. Who would have done that? _Why_ would anyone do that? I had no idea how or why any of this had happened, but I did know that if I'd still been in there, I'd probably be dead. Again. And _then_ it hits me that the only reason I'm not dead (again), is because of Joshua.

This is not a particularly easy thought to comprehend. The idea that Joshua had saved my life, intentionally, is not an easy one to swallow. Because really, after a guy's killed you twice, you feel inclined to take every semi-decent action they perform with a pinch- scratch that, an entire shaker -of salt. Especially after putting into consideration the last time Joshua "saved me", only to come back a week later and shoot me. _Again._ I'm half-expecting him to whip out a gin and shout "psyche", with a slasher grin and everything.

He doesn't, though. He just continues standing there, awkwardly, looking like he wants to say something but can't find the right words. His mouth is open, but no sound comes out. It hangs that way for a moment, and then clamps shut again. He remains silent.

"Um..." I try to speak, but I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say. I'm not really sure what I _should_ say. Part of me wants to ask him about the building, how he knew about it, why it had happened. Another part of me still can't come to grips with the fact that he helped me, and is still worried he's going to do something Joshua-like and make me wish I'd stayed in the building. Because Joshua didn't just _do _stuff like that. Not without some ulterior motive. Or the possibility that he can use something as blackmail or hold something over my head for the rest of my life.

Then I remember that he spared Shibuya, and that he brought back Beat and Rhyme, even after they lost the Game. And me. No one had made him do it. Sure, it was the _right_ thing to do, sure, but Joshua had never struck me as a stickler to his conscience. There hadn't been a catch to that, yet, unless you counted having him hang around and bug the crap out of me. There hadn't been an ulterior motive to any of that. So maybe, just maybe, it's possible that he really did just swoop in to save me, out of the goodness of his heart. Maybe this trust I say I have in him isn't so awfully misplaced after all.

I try to speak again, but Joshua doesn't wait for me to finish. Without a word, he flaps his wings, rising back up into the air. All there is is a bright flash of light, and next thing I know, he's gone, and I'm just left standing there like an idiot, staring up at the sky, still wondering what the hell just happened.

I feel my phone start to vibrate in my pocket, and I take it out. There are already two messages from Shiki, and a text from Beat. The phone starts to ring just as I flip it open, and I recognize the number as my mom.

_"Neku?!"_ Her hysteric voice screams into my ear the second I press _on._

"I'm okay mom," I reply immediately, trying to calm her. Her voice is almost unintelligible as she sobs into the phone, trying to tell me how worried she was when she saw the building. All I can do is tell her again and again that I'm fine, that I wasn't there, and that I'm coming to find her right now. She's still sobbing as I say good bye and hang up, heading to _messages_ to text Shiki and the others to let them know I'm now dead.

I look up at the sky one more time, almost hopefully, and I feel like an idiot again when I see nothing but blue skies and clouds, and a few plumes of smoke and dust floating over the tops of buildings. No magical undead boys still flitting around in the distance.

I finish texting Shiki and Eri and start to call Beat back, glancing at the sky one more time before I start heading toward what's left of the apartment to find my mom. My heartbeat has gone back to normal, and my legs no longer feel like jell-o, but I'm still as confused as hell.

And if history repeats itself, I'll probably stay that way.

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**I don't really like the beginning, and I could not figure out how to end this magically or deeply, so it feels like it drops off in a less-than satisfying way :P I'll probably write Joshua's side of this later, when I have more free time, and just paste it on as a second chapter... Oh well. Hope you enjoyed :')  
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